


The Monk

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alchemy, Eunuch, Evil Spirit, M/M, Monastery, Monk AU, Priest, Ritual, abbey - Freeform, cloister, gothic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Armitage is a monk who has spent his life within the confines of the cloister, bound to the Abbot by the secrets which they share.





	1. Chapter 1

From behind the old iron-cast bars of the grated window, the monk looked down at the garden below, watching as the trees rocked to and fro from the howling of the wind. Although Armitage did not believe himself to be of a superstitious nature, the sinister weather had the effect of stirring fanciful images within his mind. Like the moaning of some great limping beast it appeared to him, making its way along the winding solitary paths which neighbored the abbey, while the branches of the old oak trees hailed it as it passed.

He regarded the will-o-whisps that flickering amid the darkness, wondering at their ability to resist the strong gusts. Armitage’s tired eyes lingered on these faint lights amid the familiar clusters of leaves, his thoughts half upon them and partway along the intertwining figures of the manuscript which lay unfinished on his desk. He had risen from his chair in order to rest his eyes from the meticulous work, disregarding the lateness of the hour. The man was loath to disappoint his ambitions in completing the reproduction of the esoteric manuscript in time for the following day.

The monk’s resolve was to present the illuminated tome to the new Abbot on the day of the ceremonial proceedings formalizing his appointment, and thus he knew that he would be left to labor through the night by candlelight with the hope that the rising sun was still far away. Armitage rubbed his temples, as though to dispel the strange apparition which he sensed between the shadows of the furniture by the flickering of the wax taper; he felt as though there was a presence in the room, and, whether real or imagined, he cared not to dwell upon it – knowing well that any such forces would only gain power by his notice – thereby growing all the more entrenched in a man’s thoughts.

Approaching the hearth, he stirred the embers of the dying fire. This caused the expiring flames to dance once more, casting the monk’s shade upon the wall. It was almost by instinct that he felt drawn to these bright forms, by an ill founded belief that the thing which followed his movements dared not go near the fire nor the cross which hung over it. By the same motive, the monk whispered a prayer for the protection of his person and his spirit, leading him to start at a rattling creaking sound at the window. He could not keep his heart from palpitating and with a furrowed brow he sought to dismiss fantastical interpretations by way of his reason; the owl, the neighboring willow, the weatherworn building were the words which he chanted.

Yet his pulse could not be soothed.

 From a large urn, he proceeded to pour some water into a kettle and set it over the hearth to boil, methodically arranging the implements to drink tea at midnight. The assortment of leaves which he brewed were gathered by his own hands; mint, chamomile, lavender, and rosemary grown from seedlings and allowed to dry, wrapped in cloth upon his work desk. These long nights which belonged to Armitage were a frowned upon habit, yet the man hand found it a struggle to part with the peculiar peace which he found in being alone and awake while the kindly brothers slept. Obedient in all other respects to the necessities of ritual and routine, this transgression, however, the monk willfully maintained.

The patter of the rain continued outside, a sound that often had a soothing effect upon him, by way of the contrast it created between of the warmth within and the gloom without, kept back by the ancient consecrated walls of the monastery. Yet the night described was imbued with something he had not the words for, only perceiving that his spirit was less at ease than it had been for many years. Neither the murmuring of prayers nor the labors of the monk had the effect of dispelling the gloom and foreboding which had set over his conscience.

As he waited for the water to heat, Armitage returned to the window and took in every detail of the garden of roses and herbs that was discernable by moonlight, each bud, stem, leaf and tendril the objects of his dutiful care.  It pained him therefore to see them subjected to the wiles of the thrashing storm which continued late into night, the unruly weather threatening to disturb them to their very the roots. For the young monk, there was an endearing transitory beauty in the vulnerability of his dependents and he knew that on the proceeding day he would take the first opportunity of leisure to address their wounds. Yet as for obtaining such a chance, the man had much doubt that it would be within his grasp, given the ostentatious preparations which had been made for the banquet and ceremonies that were soon to take place.

The young man thought of the intricate designs which had taken years to master and refine to the great esteem of the abbey. To toil away perfecting his art had given him solace and soothed his heart: the heart of one who believed himself to stand upon a less steady foundation than his brothers. When his companions conversed with him and looked into his eyes, he wondered if they saw the emptiness left by wavering faith – a guilt appeased only by the view that if he could not be true in thought, than by word and deed he would seek to make amends. One day, when the monk was free to choose his own path, he prayed it would not be too late to serve a higher master than he to whom he bowed.

 In the meanwhile, he would entrench himself in the monastery and its ways—making himself useful, irreplaceable, humble and reverent. His hands clean to the outward eye with its cursory glance. Indeed, Armitage’s most sincere payers were that this would suffice – prayers cast to whichever deity that would listen, whichever had it in its power to turn the scales of fate.

In equal hierarchy to this fear was the dread of expulsion into the unfamiliar world outside, which seemed more stern and fearsome than the discipline and order of the brotherhood that housed him since birth. He believed that an inexperienced and reserved nature as was his own would be ill suited to the harsh blows of a worldly life, his body unfit for hard labor, his mind too introspective, his heart like the surface of a lake which reverberates to the lightest touch, yet by long winters, bearing the semblance of being frozen without.

Armitage’s history beyond the cloister would not take long for one relate, so little of it was known to the man himself save for the following brief account. He had been left on the stone steps of the monastery, swaddled in blankest by a woman whose face was in dread to look up at the man whom she beseeched. In parting with her child, she pressed her cold lips to the pale brow of the wailing creature and proffered the coins which she had been clasping tightly, letting them fall into the wizen hands of the Abbot. He had little need to see her face to know that her shame was written upon it.

Such was the memory related unto Armitage, which he had further embellished by his imaginings in order to give character to the indistinct figure that was his mother, a times a fallen woman, at times a sorceress, gypsy or queen. On occasion, in the follies of youth, he had dreamed that she would whisk him away – reaching out to grasp him through the chimney like a great demon of smoke. Yet as the cares and toils of adult life set in, such daydreams became rarer, and what was once tedious and loathsome had grown to be a welcome pastime to occupy the long hours of the day. No longer had he the energy and courage to ramble in the forest or stalk after the creatures of the wilderness. Nevertheless, his ears had remained attuned to the rustling of leaves and the diverse calls of the birds and beasts, giving him pleasure whenever he heard them from behind the abbey walls.


	2. Chapter 2

 At times Armitage believed that he could distinguish the features of a face with powerful piercing and dark locks of hair, he would see it in the distance, an illusion composed of an arrangement of branches, shadows, and adrenaline. With sweat upon his brow, he would find himself distracted from his studies, rising to inspect a corner of the room where old robes had been thrown for washing, instead of which, he seemed to see the outline of a human form, only to find it disperse into nothingness as he dared to approach. Man or woman, mortal or fiend, he could not tell what this apparition was to him as it plagued him with its nightmares. It vexed him that he knew not from where these sounds and images came, whether they were some manifestation of his guilt or something else besides.

During the weeks that had passed, marked by the relentless rhythm of rain, he was not alone in discerning a change in the outside world. The brothers had spoken of the moon, which refused to wane, and the storms, which showed no sign of abating. For weeks these phenomena continued and none were as affected by them as Armitage and the Abbot, in whose secrets he shared.

Since he was a youth, Abbot Snoke had taken him into his confidence, knowing him to be a clever, meek and dependable creature, one whose natural curiosity would make him a willing assistant to the work at hand. One who would not prattle, obedient and malleable by the gratitude and dependence he owed to his master. The matters with which the Abbot was concerned involved Armitage in the esoteric sciences, blending the practices and sciences of medicine, chemistry, physics, alchemy and astrology – at times dealing with the material and pragmatic transmutations, on occasion venturing into the spiritual and the occult. The young monk grew to revere and esteem the elder’s unflinching will to gain mastery over such powers, his fear of him increasing in equal proportion the more he grew acquainted with the diverse proofs and effects of their investigations.

Among his chief tasks as record-keeper and apothecary, his duties at times entailed being the very clay upon which these arts were practiced. Of the latter he held much dread, only to rival that which he felt for his master, on whom he knew he was dependant for his life. There was no doubt in the young man’s mind that the Abbot would tolerate no deserters to live, no feeble hand would hold a dagger over him once initiated into the Secret, having the intention to walk at once down two  paths to power, the sacred and profane. And so, by it was by a mutual desperation that each relied upon the other, pouring over pagan texts and crucibles, walking side by side in to unravel the mysteries of transmutation and escape the mazes and paradoxes of the ancient sages, never wavering from their vow of silence.

Several nights had passed since Armitage’s master had called upon him and he knew not whether to interpret this as a sign worthy of his foreboding, or whether the Abbot was simply preoccupied with the ceremony, pomp, and formalities that came with his ascension. Nevertheless, the memory of their last investigation had left its mark upon him as deep as the wounds from which his blood had flowed. Making incisions upon each of his wrists, the master had asked him to immerse himself in the brass basin of water which had been prepared for him that night. Upon the water floated diverse herbs and flowers, giving it a sweet aroma, as though it were but a lady’s perfumed bath for the day of her nuptials. Armitage silently obeyed, untying the cord around his waist and allowing his black robe to fall to the ground.

The stone floor felt cold against his bare feet as he stepped into the basin, large enough for him to recline. He tried to let himself be comforted by the warmth of the water as the blood flowed from his veins, staining it in crimson. Meanwhile, the Abbot murmured the archaic verses carefully inscribed by his own hand in a leather-bound volume which he kept always near his person, always cautious in keeping from view whichever instruments and documents as might be incriminating to one of his position, by lock and key, by ingeniously constructed chests, bookcases, and concealed passageways.

The strange pagan chanting went on in the master’s rasping voice, his expression grave in the semblance of a druidic priest preparing the sacrifice for the world beyond. Yet Armitage’s spirit had not far to travel, for on the brim of death, the Abbot sensed that he ought not allow his apprentice to teeter to close to the edge of his demise. Lifting him out of the basin, he staunched the young man’s bleeding with the poultice of crushed herbs, quickening the blood’s coagulation, and then bandaging the wounds. His robe was drenched with the youth’s blood, at the sight of which, a singular feeling of guilt cast a darkness over his countenance, lest the frail creature should not survive what which his ambitions required.

Abbot Snoke proceeded to carry him onto the bed of his chamber, having cleaned the monk and the room of his blood. When Armitage returned to consciousness, he was relieved to be out of the room which housed the diverse apparatuses and specimens of their occupation, indicating to him that his role, at least for the time being, had come to its conclusion. By his master’s permission, the monk was given leave from communal meals, prayers and ceremonies, allowing him to recover his strength from the perilous night. Nevertheless, while his body appeared to be recovering, he continued to fear for his mind, which was continuously visited by singular nightmares which he feared to relate even to his master, for there was a thought in him that the Abbot would smile upon these ill omens and lead the youth upon further ventures of the kind, taking him closer to the very darkness which he sought to escape.

Therefore, when his master would come to examine him, few words were exchanged between the two men, and even so, Armitage could detect displeasure and perhaps suspicion in the other’s regard. Yet even this he would endure, praying more fervently to be saved from the evil presence which waited at his bedside.


	3. Chapter 3

As time passed, and even as the elements of nature marked the change, the monk grew to believe that the being could not touch him save for in dreams. It had therefore been his purpose to banish it by barricading its way to him through the evasion of sleep, hoping to starve it thus. Armitage assuaged his fears with the belief that no longer could it visit him as he sat hunched over with quill and inkpot by the diminishing candle, straining against his heavy eyelids, steadying his hand lest an error should destroy many hours of meticulous work.

These he would mask by loosening imagination, turning a stray droplet into a deity’s eye, a monk in his cowl, a dragon pierced by arrows. Yet it disturbed him to see what turn these images had taken of late, recognizing them for what they were: fragments of the entity which harangued him by its very presence, never far from his side, as though the black mark was forever upon him. Like his dreams, they each preoccupied themselves with a figure, a mournful and imperious aura, whose silhouette he could almost trace.

That night, as he continued to gaze out the window, his eyes penetrated deeper through the darkness. It dawned upon him that the bobbing lights outside, which he had mistaken for ignis fatuus, clustered in two ember eyes. Their golden light was focused upon him, an unwavering gaze which spoke of cruelty, yearning, and possession which made him stagger back breathlessly. His heart pounded in his chest and the air that was in his lungs seemed caught in his throat as his hand reached for the curtains. Yet no more could he do, frozen in place – as though to obscure the being from view would give it the power of movement. He could almost see the vision of the previous night’s dream:  it running towards him, venom and wrath about its white teeth, chasing his desperate footsteps through the forest like a wolf upon a wandering huntsman who had forever lost his way.

He knew that by his yearning for power and knowledge, by exchanging his vows of faith for those of loyalty to the sect of his Abbot, he and his master were barred from their savior’s mercy, and the master of his master would be as bloodhound to collect that which was his due. Armitage knew not what manner of fiend it was that yearned for him thus, only that his mortal strength and earthly wiles would not suffice to keep it at bay. His mind oscillated between hope for redemption and despairing submission that would perhaps grant him the goodwill of bargaining. The monk sat down upon his bed, forgetting the manuscript and all earthly cares but of living to see the sun rise again.

Armitage sat thus for he knew not how long, enraptured in troubled thoughts and schemes of escape from an enemy he knew of only by scattered fragments, not knowing whether they spoke of the varied moods of a single creature or of a hierarchy of daemonic spirits, each with their own proclivities and foibles. His legs were pulled close to his body as he pressed his back against the wall, his arms wrapping around them in the position of one who wishes to make himself as small as possible, to protect every limb from a force which seemed to be in the very air he breathed. His eyes darted to and fro about the room, straining to see every inch of it at once from his vantage point upon the bed, the blanket pulled over him as would a child who was afraid of the dark. Every candle in his possession had been lit and arranged about the room as by one who had lost grasp of his sanity. Indeed Armitage wondered if it was thus, for never had his thoughts been in such disarray. In a fever of delirium and terror, his slender frame was rigid in anticipation for he knew not what. The silence of the room, save for the sound of the rain, was more disturbing to him than any scream, growl or other sign of an earthly horror. The vague and unknown danger always appeared more potent to a man’s mind than the day marked for one’s execution.

However, the young monk was unable to prevent his body from forsaking him, for by no mortal power could he evade sleep indefinitely and likewise escape the grave. He could not tell for how long he had allowed his eyes to remain shut, only finding that once he stirred into consciousness he could see that the candles and fire in the hearth were extinguished. Armitage looked about the room, his exhaustion in part subduing the fear which had caused his chest to ache, only so long as he had to discern the silhouette of a man standing by the window.

He sought the responses of the trapped animal, yet he could nether run nor scream, even to avert his eyes was beyond his power as every limb appeared to be no longer his own, frozen by some diabolic force. The entity walked towards him, relishing the effect that it had upon the monk, savoring his fear like the scent of a fine wine which he had waited long to taste.

As it approached the bed, Armitage could discern its features, not unlike those of a man, save for the eyes, upon which he dared not to look long, as they took from him that which he would not willingly give and gave only of their own agony. His believed that the life and soul of men flowed to the creature through those portals which he had perceived in the garden, endeavoring to turn his mind’s eye within as its face was inches from his own, so that he could almost feel its cold breath upon his skin. 

His marionette body yielded to the firm hands which pushed it to recline, while the being positioned its weight upon him, its elegant motions endured like a leaden weight constricting his chest. The seraph’s face was sinister in its beauty, too unearthly to allow any form of desire save that of idolatry. Its dark locks and sensuous lips traced over his skin as it seemed to explore every inch of his body, the monk’s nude form laid out upon the bed. It kissed his neck, his stomach, the bones of his hips before wrapping itself around him, its cold limbs entangled with his own. He could feel its breath close to his ear, making him shiver with fear intermingled with delight yet unknown.

 Armitage could feel it penetrate him, its hand tracing along his shoulders and his chest, his mutilated eunuch’s body shaped to receive. The being took hold of him and led him through the rhythmic motions of the carnal act which he had only experienced in furtive fantasies, immersed in guilt and longing.  It seemed to Armitage that the entity had shaped him thus in the woman’s image, leaving the rest of body untouched.

 He heard his own moans escape his lips, his eyes shut tightly, while strange maddening sensations overwhelmed him.


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, the monk experienced the beginning of a throbbing pain in the area of his groin, steadily increasing as the day progressed, yet there were no signs of blood nor injury and he knew not what to make of it. He sought to hide what had happened from all whom he encountered, all the while fearing that by some sign they would recognize the mark one no longer of their flock. He paced about his chamber, arranging books and putting away the candles which lay discarded on the floor, all the while knowing that the Abbot’s ceremony was taking place. Armitage willed himself to hurry, yet so great was his fear and derangement that he could only busy himself in tearing to pieces the manuscript which he had worked on for the prior months.

Armitage’s absence was noticed at the ceremony celebrating the Abbot’s rise to power, and even the Abbot himself had gone to see the monk, finding him unconscious in the garden. The man was given no account for his disciple’s behavior, save for the visible signs of illness which marked Armitage’s wan and pale face. Snoke did not know whether it was by willful guile or by the severity of the malady that the monk could utter no word, nor did he even open his eyes.

 The brothers’ efforts urging him to take food were of little avail, they could only watch and whisper conjectures as his body began to show the signs of a fatal decline. Since the monk first awoke from the encounter with the creature which he had no name for, his pain increased in bouts. In time he grew to realize that his body was decaying from within, rotting from the place where he had experienced the rise and fall of unearthly pleasure. He knew, furthermore, that the speed of decay increased with each night that he spent in such revels, from which he was powerless to absent himself.

The brothers continued to pray for him, mistaking his moans for the throes of agony as his body shook and trembled. Yet few dared to look long upon these intimations of ecstasy with an unwavering eye save for the old Abbot, sitting upon a stool at the bedside like a vulture on its perch. He wrung his hands, the only sign of his discomposure. The man’s conscience was troubled by the climax of long accumulated guilt and fear for his own person, for with his spirit he had long ago made his parting. However, the heart, not without its humanity, stirred with an anxiety for the suffering of the monk which did not sit well upon a proud countenance.

After five such nights, one of the brothers discovered that Armitage was dead, presuming that his dying breath had been passed by moonlight. Although no formal account had been given, he was forbidden burial within consecrated grounds. The Abbot removed him from the monastery and set up a stone cross in a clearing of the forest, digging the grave with his own hands, as he knew was his due. Nevermore did ink-stained hands trace the scripts which they were wont to favor in times of old.

A brief entry into the formal records was made upon the day, recording his given name, the year of his supposed birth and death, as well as the observation that the full moon and weeks of rainfall had at last abated.


End file.
